


oh, this too shall pass; this loneliness won't last for long.

by sometimesmyself



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M, POV Gale Hawthorne, POV Peeta Mellark, Post-Catching Fire, what happens if Katniss dies at the end of Catching Fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesmyself/pseuds/sometimesmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To him, everything's black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. I wish I could see things that clearly, could make such distinctions.  To me, it's all a mess of feelings, of different sides.  Life is so much more than right and wrong.  We all have reasons for the things we do- whether we're backed by love, hate, or revenge.   Or anger, like Gale."</p><p>The Games are over. Katniss is gone. Peeta and Gale are left to pick up the pieces, to carry the torch, to fan the flame of rebellion. And it's harder than anything they've ever done before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. some saw the smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is my first fanfiction.  
> I've read too many to count, though, so that must mean something, right?  
> Anyway.  
> I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while, and since it wasn't out there yet, I decided to write it.  
> Any comments/critique/kudos/advice would be so helpful, you don't even know omg.  
> Characters all belong to Suzanne the Great.  
> This fic will alternate between Gale and Peeta's POV.  
> Now on with the story.

_{gale}_  
From inside the hovercraft, I look down and I can see the force field ripple, shimmer, and explode. This crazy plan worked after all, and now we have to move fast.  
I watch the claw shoot down through the enlarging hole in the field, and I see her, lying there, sparks flying all around her limp body. Whoever’s controlling the pincers does a great job and picks her up first try, but as she gets nearer I can see something’s wrong.  
Yes, of course she’s passed out, but it’s more than that- instead of remaining still, her legs are twitching crazily, her head spasms, but her eyes remain closed, her face impassive.

They can’t get her in here fast enough. As soon as they place her on the exam table, I’m right by her side, not thinking about anything other than her life. Of course, as the Mockingjay, the whole world cares, too, so a whole team of doctors shove me out of the way and get to work trying to repair the flightless bird. _Katniss_.

Seconds tick by, the doctors’ faces become more and more creased in concentration, and still she doesn’t move. One of the healers, a middle-aged woman called Alvaria, steps out of the room and says my name.  
“Gale, I don’t think there’s anything we can do for her. The shock-“  
I cut her off. “Nothing you can do? You’re telling me that after all of this, everything she’s been through, she won’t even live to see what she’s accomplished?” My head spins, my world slows down, and I push my way into the white, clinical room.  
“Sorry, soldier, you really can’t be in here-“ protests one of the doctors, but I can’t be bothered to care. Katniss is dying now, maybe even dead already, and there’s not a thing I can do to help her. I rush to her bedside, I grab her hand, I yell her name.

  
Against the odds, her eyes flutter open and she coughs. I can barely hear her quiet whisper, “Gale… how’d you get here?”  
I crack a gentle smile, I tell her, “I flew. I guess I learned how from my Mockingjay.” I know that right now, more than anything, she can’t know the truth. That I’m here on a mission from District 13, that the uprising is gathering speed, that District 12 has been shot to hell.

Katniss closes her eyes again, but they shoot open again immediately. “Prim!” she gasps.  
“She’s alive. So is your mother,” I reassure her. “Peeta’s around here, too, somewhere.” It’s only then that I remember that this is a rescue mission, that if all has gone according to plan, the baker really is in this hovercraft. Whether he is or not doesn’t matter right now.

She grimaces. “Good… tell him I’m sorry… for everything…”  
“No, Katniss, don’t give up. You’re fine, you’ll be okay, I promise,” and I’m shouting, pleading with her to remain with me.

My best friend, my tribute, my lover, my hunter, clutches my hand and whispers, “take care of him… please Gale, make sure my family’s okay, too.” She trails off, gets even quieter. “Thank you for it all…”

The beeping of the machines, the steady roar of the hovercraft made it so hard to hear her, but I know what she meant.  
I lean down and press my ear to her chest.

Nothing. No sound, no steady beat, not even a weak thump.

She’s gone.

 

 

_{peeta}_

I come to in a bright white room. My head hurts, my vision’s foggy, and when I try to sit up, to look around me, I’m so dizzy that I can’t even see straight. I lay back down, and drift into unconsciousness again. Time passes, it feels like days, and I’m crashing through the jungle again, searching for Katniss. The trees above my head spin, monkeys with shrieking voices chase me, and everything is coated in thick, hot blood.

Finally I’m drawn out of this nightmare by a quiet voice, guiding me away from the visions and into reality. I can’t tell who it is yet, but whoever it is is holding my hand, anchoring me to the world, and it’s the only thing I can find and latch onto that’s tangible. Several minutes go by, and I’m feeling strong enough to open my eyes.

A face appears in front of me- dark hair, grey eyes, olive skin, but this face isn’t soft like Katniss’s. Instead, it’s got a hard jawline, thick eyebrows, a frown on its face, and then I realize- this is Gale.

I sit up with a jolt, and in spite of the pain, I ask the question- “Where’s Katniss?”  
A dark shadow twists his features into a smirk, like he’s got a private joke, and he drops my hand. With a cold, brittle voice, he responds, “Dead.”  
No. No, no no, this is impossible, can’t be happening, must be a lie. “She’s not. Where is she, really?”  
“Katniss is gone, Peeta. She shot an arrow into the force field, shattered the arena, and electrocuted herself.”

And with this admission, I know Gale must be telling the truth. I remember crashing through the jungle, howling her name, then seeing her, standing straight, her bow pointed at the night sky. After this, it’s all dark.  
“We think Enobaria knocked you out, then you fell into one of the wires wound around the lightning tree. In fact, there’s a lot you need to know,” Gale added tonelessly.

But I can’t focus, the rest of his words all blend together, because the one person who I ever really loved is dead. She’s gone- Katniss is never coming back.

_{gale}_  
It’s been an hour since we left the Arena. An hour of worry, confusion, sadness, panic. I’ve shoved these emotions into the recesses of my mind, and I refuse to think of them until I’m back, safe, in District 13.

 

The rescue mission was a success- of course, if you can look past Katniss dying  _don’t think about it, hide it away, don’t let them see your emotions_. Peeta made it, and we were able to get Beetee, Finnick, and Johanna out.

I guess that makes Enobaria, the fanged tribute, the victor.

But of course, none of that matters now.  
Plutarch, Haymitch, and Finnick are standing in the control room, discussing what to do next. I enter, and the conversation stops- they’re looking at me now like I would look at a helpless animal, injured by a misfired arrow.

I hate it. I hate their sympathy, these people who have lived in luxury for most of their lives. Yeah, they’re all helping to overthrow the Capitol, and yes, they tried to rescue Katniss, but I’ve got the feeling they didn’t even care about her. They just wanted to use her as a political pawn, a figurehead for the rebels to rally behind.

This thought fills me with rage. “So, what’s your next big plan? Send us all into the streets of District 2 to on a death mission to kill off Peacekeepers? Or how about we drop in on Snow, and shoot him in the head?” I know I’m being irrational, but I don’t care.

Finnick steps up, looks me in the eye, and hisses, “Listen, Gale. We tried as hard as we could. We know you’re hurting, and we know you’re upset, but so are we. Do you think I didn’t care about her? That Haymich didn't?”  
I guess he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “Yeah, ok, whatever," I mumble.  I take a deep breath.

"What do we do next?” I realize that the only way to remain a part of this mission, to keep my standing in 13’s army, is by remaining calm and pretending to be fine.  Of course, I’m not, but they don’t have to know that.  All they can see is me, standing tall, willing to sacrifice anything for the Cause. 

Plutarch must notice this, because he looks me in the eye and answers me honestly.  “We have some ideas- we knew there was a possibility that Katniss would die in there, so we came up with a few plans just in case things went south.  Right now, we need to do damage control.  I’m sure the propo team in 13 has a memorial set up already, it’s just a matter of filling in the details.  Giving the Rebels a martyr to fight for.”

No matter how I feel now, I know Plutarch has the right idea.  Turning the Mockingjay into a martyr will cause a massive outcry, will make the people rally in anger, and maybe even tip the scales in our favor.  

Now I think of Peeta, Katniss’s boy with the bread, the one who fought to save her life.  

I wonder what he’ll do now that there’s no life left to save.

 


	2. show me the way, Lord, 'cause I'm about to explode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a PLAN for everything I want to happen in this story. huzzah.  
> Whether or not I'll stick to it remains to be seen...  
> As of right now, I plan on updating this story at least 4 times per week.  
> This chapter is a bit longer than the last one, but still quite short by Ao3's standards.  
> Please keep in mind this is my first voyage into the wonderful land of WRITING, so bear with me, and comment if something seems off.  
> Thanks so much for reading.

_{peeta}_

It’s been a week since I left the Arena.  7 days since I discovered District 13 is still standing, and flourishing.  168 hours since the Rebels saved my life.  And what feels like years since Katniss left me.

Ever since I got here, I’ve been roaming the underground city, hiding in whatever small, out-of-the way spots I can find.  Technically, I’ve been assigned a compartment, but I’m never really there.  In fact, I’m never really anywhere.  They kept me in “psychiatric observation” for 24 hours upon my arrival here, but released me once they saw I wouldn’t do anything stupid, like kill myself.  Aside from any mental harm, I’m relatively uninjured.  

Rationally, I know that I’m being stupid.  I’m fully aware that, by refusing to comply with the rules here, I’m only bringing trouble on myself.  But with Katniss dead, my district burned to the ground, and my family gone, there’s nothing, no one, left for me to care about.  

Now I’m sounding like Johanna.  Who, by the way, is handling everything about as badly as I am.  The strict rules, limited food, and lack of axes around for her to hurl at people have made her even more pissy than usual.  But I can hardly blame her for that, considering she’s been through hell her whole life and now she’s expected to quietly attend history classes and help to prepare food.  Culture shock, I guess.  

Finnick is back to his confident, flirtatious self, but there’s something different about him I can’t quite place.  It’s in the way he carries himself, proud but sober.  His eyes are still a bright, sea-green, but there’s a depth to them I hadn’t noticed before.  And he still radiates life, acts as a beacon of light to everyone- yet I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.  Regardless, he’s been the kindest person to me here by far.  When I do show up in the dining hall to eat, Finnick always finds me, sits with me, talks to me.  He always knows just what to say, and how to act.  I guess that’s him saving my life all over again, just like in the Arena when he gave me the air from his lungs.  I appreciate him more now than I ever have.

And then there’s Gale.

Gale, the man I had once considered competition, the man who had had a special connection with Katniss I never could beat.  Gale, the hunter, who’s now become an impassive, detached soldier.  I’ve seen him around the corridors here, always moving, marching with a purpose, his fancy watch blinking and beeping.  He hasn’t said a word to me since we got off the hovercraft, almost like he thinks that if he can ignore me, forget my presence, he can forget about her.  There’s no way it’s working for him, though, I can see it in every line in his face.  

It’s funny- before all of this started, before the Games intruded on our lives, I never would have given Gale a second glance aside from noticing him with Katniss.  Never would have considered him a friend, nor spoken to him. 

Now, in the weeks after Katniss’s death, I think he’ll need someone else who can at least try to understand what he’s been through. 

Whether he’ll accept my help or my friendship, however, remains to be seen.

 

_{gale}_

A whole week, 7 fucking days of being angry, acting unflappable to avoid anyone getting close to me.  I’ve continued doing my chores, training hard, even reporting for every meeting I can, but nothing can get my mind off Katniss.  The promise I made to her just before she died. 

Hell, the look on her face when she whispered my name has haunted me every night.  I haven’t been able to sleep properly, either, not when my thoughts are a turmoil of fighting _katniss,_ rebellion _katniss,_ training _katniss._

President Coin pulled me aside yesterday afternoon, explaining that if I don’t start opening up soon they’ll have to put me in the psych ward.  My family’s noticed, too- Rory must see the anger in my face, the tension in my body every time Snow is mentioned.  Mom just looks sad all the time, and now I remember that she cared about Katniss, too.  

And I know I'm being selfish in all of this. By not talking about it, by not sharing my  _feelings,_ by avoiding everyone I care about.  I see that I'm pushing everyone away by holding them at a distance, and I need to stop.  But this is so much easier than falling apart.

I'm selfish in more ways than this, though.  After Katniss died, when they took off her clothes and cleaned her up, they found several items on her.  A silver parachute, one of the ones used to send gifts to the tributes in the Arena, with a spile and a pearl hidden inside.  Her mockingjay pin, the golden bird that started it all.    
And Peeta's token, the shiny locket with photos of Katniss's mother, sister, and me inside.

Because I was the only one in the room, the only conscious person, at least, they dropped this important little collection into my hands and told me it was mine.  They don't feel like mine, though.

I wasn't in the Arena with her. I don't deserve the precious spile they used to get life-granting water from trees.  Finnick does.

I'm not the one who gave her the pearl, pulled from an oyster from the sea, pressed into her palm with a shy smile. Peeta is.

And although the Mockingjay was so important, so vital to this cause I now fight for, I never encouraged her to be that symbol.  Haymitch did.

The locket, even though my face is in it, isn't even mine, either.  It belongs to Peeta.  But will he be able to wear it, to touch it, to even look at it without coming to pieces?

All I've seen him do since he's entered District 13 is wander around aimlessly, showing up to eat every so often, hiding out so nobody talks to him.  I've noticed the tears in his eyes that he won't let fall, I've seen the hurt in his face every time I walk past.

I haven't even spoken to him.  It's only a matter of time until Coin and her people get a hold of Peeta, tell him to shape up, remind him he's still alright, still alive.  I know I should go to him, give him the pearl and the locket, but I can't bring myself to do that yet.  

And if I can't even go up to him, drop what's his into his hands, turn around, and leave, how am I ever going to turn from the pain of Katniss leaving me?  


_{peeta}_

Well, I knew something had to give.

Earlier today 4 soldiers found my hiding spot in an alcove next to the Generator room.  They marched up, grabbed my arms, and carried me down several flights of stairs, up a winding corridor, and through a door, then deposited me in a chair across from Plutarch Heavensbee. 

"Good to see you, Peeta. We need to talk," he insisted.  

I'm tired. I don't care. And I'm really not in the mood for a lecture from the Head Gamemaker. "What do you want, Heavensbee?" I snap.

"Well, for starters, you could maybe show up for some of your scheduled activities," he responds.  Oh yes, I forgot about that.  Every morning, we're supposed to be stamped with a list of what we're doing that day, but I've been avoiding this.  I never asked to be brought here, so why should I do what they say?  I'd just assumed that, as long as I didn't create trouble, they'd leave me alone.  Apparently not.

"Ok, fine. I guess I should get going, then, talk to you later," I reply, then stand up to get the hell out.

Plutarch shakes his head. "No, Peeta, I'm afraid it's not that simple," he insists.  "Katniss is gone.  She was the embodiment of this rebellion, and now that she's dead, the people feel that their Cause is, too."  
Ah, the people.  The war.  I've been so wrapped up in my own problems I'd sort of forgotten other people have problems of their own to contend with.

"So what am I supposed to do about that?" I ask, because I really don't know.  I'm weak, I've got a prosthetic leg, and I see no way in which I can help anyone.

"I was hoping you'd ask," he responds, a small smile spreading across his face.  "We thought, just maybe, you'd agree to be the new face of the rebellion."

Wait, what? "You want me to replace Katniss?  To be the Mockingjay?" 

Plutarch shakes his head, "No, not that, exactly.  We want you to show the world that, even though your 'wife' is dead, you're still fighting.  You want to avenge her death, and you're willing to do anything."

I'm confused.  The Gamemaker is right- I  _do_ want to avenge her, to get even for what the Games did to her.  But am I willing to be the poster child for hundreds, maybe thousands, more deaths? Will the benefits really outweigh the cost?  "I'll have to think about this... I mean.. do you realize what you're asking me to do?" 

"Yes, Peeta, we do.  I don't understand what you've been through, but I acknowledge it. And I know that, should you decide to take this responsibility on, your world will change.  Drastically," he finishes.  He looks down, clenches a piece of paper in his hands. "Are you willing?"

 _Am I willing?_ "I just can't answer that question yet."  Plutarch looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can get any words out, I finish, "But I swear, I'll think about it.  Hard.  Can I tell you my decision in a day?"

"Of course.  I would say you can take as long as you need, but we don't have the luxury of time.  Be here tomorrow at 1600 hours to let us know," he replies.  "Thank you for your consideration."  

Ha.  That's what Katniss said in the Training Center, just after she'd scared the hell out of the Gamemakers.  This parting remark from Plutarch only reminds me of Katniss's fire- the power, the drive in her, that caused her to fight as hard as she could for what she loved.  How crazy she acted when she was determined.

And it makes me wonder what she would do, now, if she were in my shoes.  

But she's not- she's dead. It's Snow's fault, and I have the power to get even for it, if it's the last thing I do.  

I think I know what my answer will be.


	3. Everybody's got a life they don't want to keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't noticed, all my chapter titles are lines from songs on the Hunger Games soundtrack.  
> This chapter took a loooong time to write- I wanted to make sure I got the characterization right.  
> I don't want to make Gale too soft, and I don't want to make Peeta too stoic and angry.  
> Writing District 13 is tough, too- The books didn't provide very much information about its layout, etc., so I'm making a lot up as I go along.  
> As always, ANY comments/kudos/follows are so very much appreciated.  
> Thank you for reading.

_{gale}_

I've just been called in for a meeting, and it's really important from the looks of it.  Everyone seems to be here- Finnick, Johanna, Plutarch, Haymitch, President Coin, a man called Boggs, who I think is supposed to be in charge of the District 13 military.  Even Beetee, the genius from District 3 is here, sitting in a wheelchair towards the front of the room.

We're all looking at each other, and it's clear from the expressions on their faces that most of the others here don't know what's going on, either.  I head over to stand next to Johanna and Finnick.  He's (much) too flirty for me to try to befriend, but he's turned out to be a great help to everyone here in 13.  He knows a lot more than most people give him credit for.

I still don't know what to make of Johanna.  I'm no good at reading people to begin with, and she makes it even harder with her surly attitude and blatant refusal to talk to anyone.  She still shows up to the meetings, training sessions, and classes, though, so I suppose somewhere in her there's a resolve to do her part.  She  _did_ help to save Katniss, too, and I'll overlook her actions now in favor of her kindness in the past.

The room suddenly gets quiet, and now I can see why.  Peeta's just stormed in through the sliding door, and now he's striding up to the front of the room.  Heading straight for Plutarch.  He reaches him, and stands next to him, folding his arms.  Plutarch looks over at Peeta, nods at him, and begins to talk.

"Alright, people.  As all of you know, the rescue didn't go quite as we'd planned.  In losing Katniss, we lost not only a good friend-" I glance at Peeta, see his downcast eyes- "but also a symbol for our revolution.  The rebelling districts have gone into a downward spiral, as word has spread of her demise."

Heads around the room nod, people make sounds of agreement, and Plutarch continues. "Beetee was able to get into some of the networks, so we aired several memorial pieces in honor of Katniss to all of the Districts except for District 1.  This has helped some, but it's clear that, unless something changes, we cannot win."  

I agree- although we now have a martyr to fight in honor of, her loss has rendered many hopeless.  

The Gamemaker continues.  "You see, that's where Peeta comes in.  At the advice and agreement of President Coin, I've asked him to resume where Katniss left off.  To take the flaming torch from her, and to carry it to the end of the race, as it were.  And now he's giving us an answer."

 _What does he mean?_ As if in answer to my unvoiced question, Peeta steps up.

"My answer is yes.  I don't like it very much, but honestly," Peeta continues, "if it's the best way to end this fight, I'll do it."

Everyone applauds for him, everyone except for me.  I'm still trying to piece this together.  Did they all know about this? Why has nobody asked what I think?  Peeta, taking over for Katniss.  Taking her place as the face of the rebellion.  Up until this minute, he hasn't seemed to notice there  _was_ a war on, much less care.  And now he's going to 'fight'?

Coin clears her throat and says, "Thank you, Peeta.  Your sacrifice will not go unnoticed.  Now, there's a lot of things that have to be done.  Plans to be made, people to help.  Everyone needs to come together, to help out and pitch in to win this war!"  Her voice remains calm, controlled.  "I thank you all for your decison to make a difference in this world.  That will be all for now.

That sure as hell won't be all.  

As those around me start to clear out of the room, I stalk over to Peeta.  "What's this?  You're suddenly comitted to the cause, now?"  He sucks his lips in, clenches and unclenches his fists.  

"No, not really.  In fact, I don't think I care very much about this at all," he mutters.  "Wanna know what I  _do_ care about, though?  Katniss, that's what."  He sounds demanding.  Upset.  "I'm sure it comes as a shock to you, but I loved her just as much as you did, even if she didn't love me back.  And yes, I'm 'suddenly comitted to the cause now,'" he makes quotes in the air, "because I know it's all I can do to make up for it."

This makes sense.  No, he's not fighting for freedom from the Capitol- he wants freedom from his guilt.  I understand this, I really do.

"Alright, relax.  I see what you're doing," I explain.  "And I'm going to try to help you."

His face is still flushed, but his expression has gone from angry to astute.  "Yes, Gale.  I would appreciate that."

There's nothing left to say.  We've agreed to an alliance, of sorts- not friends, not enemies.  Just there, supporting each other in any way we know how.  

 

_{peeta}_

_  
_It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  By giving in, agreeing to what the leaders here want me to do, I'll make a difference.  And apparently Gale agrees.

Even though this won't bring Katniss back, it'll bring me closer to those she loved.  I feel it's the least I can do.  

Gale's still standing there, watching me, then he seems to make a decision.  He gives me a sharp nod, turns around, and treads out of the room.  I can see how he and Katniss got along so well- their personalities are so similar, both so decisive, they must've made a good team.

To him, everything's black and white, good and evil, right and wrong.  Even though I don't know him very well yet, I can see this trait standing out already.  

I wish I could see things that clearly, could make such distinctions.  To me, it's all a mess of feelings, of different sides.  Life is so much more than right and wrong.  We all have reasons for the things we do- whether we're backed by love, hate, or revenge.   Or anger, like Gale.  

My mind drifts back into the present. Beetee's watching me, smiling.  He was so kind to me in the Arena, and I've repaid him for this by ignoring him ever since we got to Disrict 13.  In fact, I've done this to everyone.  

Now that I'm going to be a part of the Cause, I guess I should start by making friends again.

"Hey.  How are you feeling?" I ask him.  He's been paralyzed from the legs down from attempting to spear the force field in the Arena, so now he can only get around in his wheelchair.  Knowing Beetee, though, it's probably tricked out and updated within an inch of its life.

I can tell Beetee appreciates this gesture. "I'm alright, thanks.  The technology here leaves much to be desired, however," he responds.  

I smile. "Hm. So that's how you've been keeping busy?"

"Yes, indeed.  The Rebels here need all the help they can get," he answers.  He's absolutely right.  "I've been working on everything from re-wiring the computers here to developing some more hi-tech weapons for 13.  In fact, I was hoping you could tell me what you're best with- a gun, a bow, a knife?- and I could prepare a special one for you."

Ugh. Weapons. In my hurry to accept the role of figurehead I'd forgotten I might actually have to commit acts of violence.  "To be honest, Beetee, I'm not really one for fighting... I appreciate the offer, though."

He nods.  "I understand.  While we were... in the Games, I noticed you weren't like the others.  You're peaceful.  I got the impression that, if allowed, you would have just grabbed Katniss and hidden in the bushes until everything was over."

"Yes, exactly," I respond. "I've only killed 3 people in my life, but that's still 3 too many."  I ponder this statement.  "And I know it seems like I'm just in this for revenge, but I just want it all to be over.  I know the only way the Games ever could end, permanently, is through this war."  

Beetee looks down. "You're right.  And, as upsetting as bloodshed is, sometimes it's the only possible solution." I'm sure he's thinking of his role in the Games years ago, when he crafted an electronic trap in order to kill off the remaining 6 tributes. "I'm glad you came to me, Peeta.  I hope you're aware that if you ever need someone to discuss things with, I'll be around.  I wish you the best of luck in this."

"Yeah, you too," I respond as he rolls out of the room.   I think about what we've just said.  Beetee's right- the only way to conquer death, in this case at least, is through more death.  More murder.

I know I've made the right choice, but I wonder how many more lives will end because of me.  

 

_{gale}_

I'm lying in my bed in my compartment, thinking.  

Thinking about what happened today at the meeting, about the look on Peeta's face when he made his announcement.  About the tremors that shook his hands, the way he hid them behind his back so nobody would see his uneasiness.

When I was whipped by the last Peacekeeper, Thread, Katniss stepped in, took a lash to the face for me.  I remember that Peeta stepped in on my behalf, too, and even through the haze of pain I knew he was trying as hard as he could.  Thinking back on that awful week, I recall that Peeta helped to carry me to the Victor's Village, that he stayed up with me one night so Katniss could get sleep.

Later, while the three Victors were training for the Quarter Quell, I taught Peeta about snares and trapping.  We spent several silent hours in the woods together, neither of us quite willing to break the ice and start a conversation. But later, I told Katniss that I tried to hate Peeta- God, did I want to- but it was just too hard, because he was simply too good of a person.

His kind, caring persona isn't just an act- I can tell he's one of the select few left who truly cares about other people.

The only reason he's agreed to help is so that he can get back at Snow.   It almost seems like he feels bad about _that,_ too.  This remembrance that he's a better man than I am surprises me.  I think back to the moments in the Arena when he could've hurt his fellow tributes, killed them, even, and he didn't.  

Ever time he's been faced with the decision to harm or to help, he's always chosen to help- until it involved Katniss.  As soon as she entered the equation, Peeta gave up everthing. His welfare, his morals, his needs.  Nothing else seemed to matter to him.  Which is why I'm starting to feel that we're more alike than we seem.

I'm interrupted from my musings by a soft knock on the door. "Gale?  Are you in there?" I'd recognize that voice anywhere- it's Prim.

"Yes, I'm here.  Come on in," I reply.

The door slides open, and there she is.  Katniss's little sister, Primrose Everdeen, the one the Girl on Fire volunteered to save.  Suddenly I'm aware that, if it wasn't for her, Katniss would never have been in the Games, and none of this would be happening.

It's an upsetting thought.

Prim pads into my room, sits down in a chair next to the bed. "Are you alright?"

Of course, she wants to know.  She's a healer, a girl who cares more about others than she does herself.  Sounds familiar. I reply, "I'm fine."

She glares at me, annoyed and earnest.  "No, you're not.  I know you, Gale, and you need help.  Now, be honest."

This isn't the same Prim I knew back in District 12. This Prim still has a heart of gold, but it's grown tougher.  She's growing up.  It looks like she can handle the truth now.  "Fine.  I'm not alright.  But I will be, just give me some time," I answer.

Prim rolls her eyes. "Well, of  _course_ I'll give you some time.  That's obvious," she finishes.  "But right now, you need to talk.  It's bad for you to feel so much, but not to share it with anyone."  

I guess if there's anyone I should be talking to, it's Prim. "Maybe it _is_  bad.  I just don't know what to say... that I loved her? That I'm upset with my best friend for dying?"  

"I promise, you're not the only one who feels that way," she answers. "My mother cries every night...  she's not as bad as she was in the time after my father passed, but she's still so weak."  Prim pauses, as if to gather courage.  "Do you know, I didn't even get to say goodbye to my sister?  As soon as she and Peeta had been selected," she sniffles a bit, "they threw her right on the train.  The last time I saw her alive, she was still fighting to get to me."  

I remember that day so clearly.  The barely-contained anger of the crowd.  The way Katniss looked, standing tall, even though she knew she was heading into certain death. 

"Yeah. That's what she did," I remind Prim. "She loved you so much, more than anyone else in the whole world."  I'm not sure whether to tell her this or not, but I continue anyway.  "Nobody else knows this, but the first thing she said as soon as she came to on the way out of the Arena was, 'Where's Prim?'"  
 Even in her last moments, her biggest concern was for her family.

Prim watches me, a brooding expression on her face. "I didn't know you got to talk to her.  They haven't told us much of anything, actually..." she trails off.  "It's not fair.  Just because I'm small, they think I'm weak, that I won't be able to take the truth.  But think of what I've been through!"  tears are forming in her eyes now.  

She's right.  She's almost starved, her dad died, her mother went insane, her sister fought in the Games twice, and her home burned to the ground.  "I know, Prim, trust me," I admit.  "And I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you or your mom.  That's going to change, now."  I've been selfish.  One of Katniss's last wishes was for me to take care of her family, to protect them and help them.  Now I see how I've failed.

I slide off the bed, move to the chair, and lean down to give Prim a hug.  

Neither of us lets go for a while.

 

_{peeta}_

_  
_I'm so glad I spoke to Beetee.  Finally, I've chosen to do something, and my head is so much clearer.  I decide that my next course of action will be to go outside.  Now that I think about it, I haven't really been outdoors, felt the sun on my back, since the Games.  Of course, that doesn't count.

I wander around until I find the elevator, then take that to the top floor. There are guards blocking the exit, but I explain, "If it's alright, I'd like to go outside for a little.  Just right around the door.  I won't go anywhere else."   
They glance at each other, then nod at me.  

"Alright, you've got 5 minutes.  Be careful," one of them responds.

"Thanks." He taps in a code, and the hatch in the ceiling opens.  I climb the ladder, poke my head out, feel the chilly autumn air.  I've missed this more than I'd realized.  

Although I've never had a love for the outdoors like Katniss did, I've always been able to appreciate the beauty of nature.  How wonderful the freedom of being outside feels.  

When I was training for the Quarter Quell, Gale took me out in the woods a few times, showed me how to set traps and snares.  Tried to teach me how to walk quietly, but with my bad leg I could never match his silent tread.  We never really spoke out there, but I'd always felt that there was a sort of bond between us.  An understanding that, although we both loved Katniss, we knew she'd make her own decision, and we could do nothing about it.  

I admired that about her- the freedom stirring inside her, even as a Tribute, a pawn in the Games.  And I could tell Gale felt the same way.

I look up at the darkening sky, I see a hawk soar over my head.   _Free._ The sun is setting- slowly, my favorite color makes an appearance.  Burnt orange, the exact color of flickering flames.  My surroundings are bleak- the barbed wire all around me, guarding the District, the weapons range, the bare trees.  But the complexity of the dusk takes my mind off everything, and I feel at peace.

Before I know it, I'm being called back inside.  

I make my way back down the corridor, ride the elevator to the dining hall.  It looks like I'm back just in time for dinner- people are forming orderly lines, grasping their trays, sitting to eat with their friends.

Suddenly, I realize I'm actually quite hungry.  I've had no appetite for the past several days, but now it returns with a vengeance.  I get in line, get my food, and go to sit at a table as far away from everyone else as possible.  The meal of boiled beets, mystery meat, and water doesn't look very appetizing, but I tuck in anyway.

Then Gale plops down across from me.  "Hi," he speaks.  "Anything good today?"  He looks... fine, actually.  Not stressed, not upset, not thoughtful, just normal.  Relaxed.

I reply, "No, not especially.  Unless, of course, you're one for tasteless food. In which case, yes, everything's  _fantastic."_

He smirks.  Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.  "How comforting," he says.  "Actually, I wanted to ask you about training.  Everyone else in the Rebel army here has been running, practicing weaponry, and all of that," Gale pauses to swallow. "You... haven't.  Which is fine, but I was thinking you could join us.  Considering you're the new Face of the Rebellion."

" _I_ see how it is.  Can't have a weak, infirm soldier, can we?" It makes sense, though.  If I look incapable of fighting, what's the point of my being an example?

Gale shakes his head. "It's not just for looks- You're obviously not very well right now. You've got to exercise, get outside," he explains.  "It'll work wonders for your health."

"Alright, works for me," I answer.  "But when do I start with all of this?  What, exactly, am I supposed to be doing?"

He frowns.  "Well, the plan was originally to bring Katniss here and have her do a series of short films.  They called them 'propos'.  Plutarch had counted on Beetee being able to hack the Capitol's broadcasts to air these videos, and from what I've heard it's working really well," he halts for a moment in thought.  "As far as your job, though, I'm not sure yet."

"I knew Beetee was smart, but being able to hack into the secrure Capitol network? That's genius."  Gale nods in agreement.

"Yeah, Volts is definitely on our side,"  

 _Volts?_ "I gather you've spoken to Johanna, then." 

He shrugs. "Not very much- I don't think she likes me a whole lot."

"Ha. Johanna doesn't like anyone a whole lot," I respond.  "Have you been around Finnick much?"

"Uhhhh... a little," he mumbles.  "Is it just me, or does he always act so.."

I decide not to leave him hanging. "So flirtatious?" Gale nods, looks down at the table. "I promise, it's not just you.  That's just how he is.  If you can believe it, he was worse in the Capitol."  Now that I think about it, he's mellowed out quite a lot.  I make a connection- "I'd bet it's because of Annie."

"Annie? Is that the crazy girl, the one the old lady volunteered for?" 

"Yeah, she is."  I don't know what's happened to her- the last I'd heard, she was still safe in District 4.  Is anyone really safe anymore, though?    
"Finnick's probably just concerned about her. He _was_  her mentor, after all, and apparently he fell in love with her during the weeks she trained for the Games.  Katniss also said that when the Jabberjays attacked them, many of them had Annie's voice."  
That's one of the worst memories I have of the Quarter Quell.  Katniss, trapped behind an invisible wall, me on the other side unable to do anything.  _Don't think about that now._

"Shit.  I'd act weird, too, if I was him," Gale answers.  "Thanks for the info."

"Yeah, no problem," I say.  "I guess I should go get some sleep, considering I've got a long day of working out ahead of me."  
I'm not exactly dreading it, but practicing my knife-throwing skills and running 5 miles aren't really my ideas of a great day.

Gale stands up as I back away from the table, push in my chair.  "Alright.  I guess I should do the same.   What floor are you on?"

Oh. "They told me after they released me from the medical ward, but I've forgotten," I answer.  "Who do I ask?"

"The office area is on the 70th floor," he replies.  "Actually, I might as well go with you, I've got a few things I need to do before I hit the sack, anyway."

"Good, thank you," I say.  I really do appreciate this gesture.  Maybe Gale is more open to friendship than I'd thought.


	4. Every single time the wind blows I see it in your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ugh characterization is HARD.  
> I was thinking about the ending of Mockingjay and I've decided I'm not too enthusiastic about it.  
> I mean, it was fine- just kinda unsatisfying. Everyone died. Gale left Katniss and turned out to be a total jerk, in spite of the fact that he was pretty great in the first 2 books.  
> Aaaaaaanyway. Here's the chapter.  
> Now that it's (FINALLY) Christmas break, I'll be able to get a lot more writing done, on long trips in the van and boring afternoons.  
> As always, comments/kudos/bookmarks are really appreciated.  
> Also- if anyone would like to beta this for me I WILL SEND YOU A MILLION KITTENS.

_{gale}_

_  
_Peeta's been put on Floor 57, Room 22.  Somebody must have thought it was a good idea to put us near each other, because I'm right across the hallway from him in Room 21. Which is fine, actually.

Right now he's in his room, and I'm in mine.  I hadn't realized it until tonight, but he doesn't have anything with him aside from the clothes on his back.  No special jewelry, letters, mementos, or anything- just him.  And I've been thinking how wrong this is.  

Yeah, Katniss and I were best friends, hunting partners.  We depended on each other.  But she and Peeta were in the Games together, _twice._ And as much as I dislike admitting it, he was there for her.  He wasn't afraid to show her how he felt about her, even if she thought he was acting.  I can't say the same.  

Other than the one kiss we had before she left for the Victory Tour, we hardly ever discussed anything so seemingly irrevelant as feelings.  How I wish I could take that back now.  But there's something I can do about that- I can give what she owned to the boy she loved.

I stand up, cross my room, rummage in my dresser drawer until I find the silver parachute.  I pick it up, uncover the spile, the pearl, the pin, and the locket.  Peeta deserves these things, he deserves them for being strong.  For being there for her whenever she needed him, for being selfless to a fault.  

Before I can change my mind, I leave my room, and go to knock on Peeta's door.  There's a moment after I've knocked that I wonder what I'm doing, but then he slides the door open. 

"Uh, hi.  You really must've missed me- good thing we're neighbors," he jokes, a smirk on his face.

"Ha, ha," I respond, rolling my eyes.  "Actually, I've got something for you."  Peeta ushers me in and slides the door behind me shut.

The friendly smirk drops from his face as he sees I mean business; he grows serious, attentive. "Oh. Okay. What is it?"

I hold the little treasure, wrapped in the metallic parachute out to him; he doesn't take it.  He's just standing there, staring at it.  "But this is-"

"Yeah, it's from the Arena.  Look inside," I answer, as he finally reaches out for it.  

He opens the silvery material, and uncovers the tokens.  I hear him inhale quickly, his eyes are getting misty.  He picks up the pearl, rolls it between his fingers.  "Oh my God," whispers Peeta. "I didn't know what had happened to this stuff, if she'd even kept it..."

"Of course she did.  They found it in one of her pockets, and they gave it all to me because I happened to be there at the time," I respond. "Maybe... I guess I should have mentioned it before..."

He shakes his head and frowns. "No, no, it's alright."  Now he's tracing the Mockingjay pin, running his fingers over the metal.  "I don't know if I could've handled it any sooner.  What matters is that you're showing me now."

"Yeah, I guess.." I suddenly feel like an intruder, like I shouldn't be here right now, watching this moment.  "Ok. I'm just, uh, gonna go now."  

 

_{peeta}_

I can't believe he's giving me this; or even that he's had it all along. This pearl. She'd held it, kissed it, rolled it around in her hand... she smiled when I gave it to her in the Games, possibly the first and only smile I'd seen on her face that entire time.

It's remarkable. Why is Gale letting me have it? Or the parachute, or anything else?  I open the locket, I see Katniss's mother and sister gazing up at me with their pale eyes. And Gale in the middle of the locket, with a blue shirt. The background of the photo is a pale gray; it looks like it was taken in the Seam.  And Gale's piercing glare.

I look up from the necklace and see the real man, not the picture, looking down at the floor; a bit uncomfortable, perhaps.  But he can't leave, not just yet.

 

_{gale}_

I turn to go, but Peeta grabs my arm. "Wait.  Gale, I'm sure this wasn't easy.  You didn't have to give this... stuff to me... but you  _did._ That means more to me than you know."  He tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace.  "Alright. That's it. Just... thanks."

I didn't know he'd react this strongly. "You're welcome..." I respond. "See ya." I step out into the corridor, cross to my room, and lie down on my bed.  I know this was the right thing to do, and that he needed to have those things.  

I can still feel the pressure on my arm from where he gripped it. He's stronger than I thought.

My mind turns from thoughts of Peeta, glittering blue-eyed baker, to thoughts of Katniss. Her grey eyes, her face, her body, her voice.  Everything about her, I miss it all.

I don't even notice when I finally drift off to sleep. All my dreams are soundless, empty except for an ocean of blue and a sky of grey.

_{peeta}_

I'm awoken by a rude banging on my door. I stand up, stumble over to the door, and poke my head out.  Gale's standing there tapping his foot, looking alert and awake in a fresh grey uniform.  

"C'mon, it's time to report for training," he orders.  Then his eyes run up and down my body, taking in my disheveled appearance and likely bloodshot eyes.  "Well... be ready in 5.  I'll tell them you were just running a little late."  With an exaggerated sigh, he turns and strides down the hallway.

Shit.  My first morning, and I'm already late.  This is definitely not how I wanted to start my career as the new Face of the Rebellion.  There's not really any point in changing into a clean outfit, but I do anyway.  I find the locket, my token in the games, and slip that over my neck.  Silly as it seems, I feel like it'll help me, give me courage. I run a comb through my hair, splash my face with water, and go to the elevator.

The doors slide open, and I'm met with the grinning face of Finnick Odair.  "Hey, Baker Boy.  Are you heading up for a lovely day of physical exertion, too?" 

"You know it," I answer.  "Do I have anything to be worried about, other than pulling a muscle?"

He shakes his head. "Nah.  They're strict here, but as long as you do what they say and at least make it  _look_ like you're trying, you'll do fine." _  
_

"I sure hope there's no swimming pool.  I probably wouldn't be much use to them drowned," I say.

He laughs, but there's a note of irony in his voice when he retorts, "Yeah, I'd have to rescue you  _again._ "   We make small talk the rest of the ride up, and when we reach the top floor he shows me the way to the exit we'll be using.   

"They've got a whole area fenced off for us to use," Finnick explains.  "There's a shooting range, a track, and even a whole weight-lifting area.  I'm sure you can tell I've been  _there_ quite a lot," he says, flexing his muscles and waggling his eyebrows.  He's smiling, laughing, and cracking jokes, but I can tell it's just a cover-up.  Annie's still in District 4, and Finnick must be missing her more with each passing day.  But I know that the fishing district is fairly wealthy, and judging by the footage we've seen of the rebellions in different areas, District 4 seems to be fighting back with the most zeal.

Finnick and I walk the rest of the way in a companionable silence; we go up some stairs, through a door, and we're outside, blinking in the sunlight.  He wasn't kidding- it looks like they've really tried to have a variety of things here for us to do.  We walk over to the group, and I see a couple dozen faces I don't know.  

Johanna is there, standing tall and proud as usual; we glance at each other, and she gives me a quick, sharp nod. 

And Gale. He looks at me, unblinking, with the same eyes as Katniss had. Last night I saw a side of him I had never really known existed... will he be back to his usual self today? 

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by someone loudly clearing their throat, and I notice that everyone's eyes are on me.

"Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting," I apologize.  

A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and impeccable posture steps forward, and says "That's alright. Don't let it happen again, though.  I suppose I should introduce myself- I'm Roosevelt Cronin, head of the District 13 militia."

"Nice to meet you.  I'm... well, I guess you already know," I respond, awkwardly.  He shakes my hand. He's got a firm grip, which I feel is a good indicator of his personality.  Cronin seems very fit for his job- tough, no-nonsense, and smart.  

"I think we should get started right away," he says.  And with that, I'm whisked from one spot to another, practicing throwing knives, shooting, and running, among many other things. I feel like a failure at all of them. I remember the way I felt the first time I was in the Training Center for the Games: Katniss, wowing everyone with her skills in archery, and myself, unable to do anything but lift heavy weights or paint pretty pictures.  So incapable. I faded into the background, when compared to her. She could do everything. God, I miss her.

The images of her in my head keep me company throughout the day, make the time pass more quickly (albeit more painfully); and before I realize it, it's nearly 2 o'clock- or I guess I should say 1400- and we're dispersing for the afternoon. I'm informed I need to be here at about 600 every day, unless otherwise specified.  I'm grateful for the years I spent helping in the bakery, waking at 5 in the morning and working until late. I don't feel prepared, by any means, but my past life is a comfort to me, a reassurance that perhaps I'll make it through these next several weeks.

As I wander back to the common room, I look around for Gale; as soon as training was over, he vanished.  But I see Johanna in front of me, and fall into step with her.

"Hey," I greet her, "how's it going?"  Lame. I don't know what to say to her.

She glances over at me. I notice she's starting to put on some weight, she looks more muscular and healthy.  It's incredible what a difference the past dozen days have made.  And she's gotten a haircut, too- it's short, sleek, and very tough-looking.

Johanna responds, "I'm perfectly fine. I've got food, a place to work out, and all the axes I could ever dream of throwing. You look okay, too, considering your wife just died. At least you're not moping around anymore, though."

Ouch. I see she hasn't lost any of her attitude.  "Yeah, it's probably time for me to start doing things again," I answer. As soon as I've said it I know I'm right. Brooding wouldn't have changed anything. Getting outside, moving around, that's the only way for me to take my mind off  _her_. 

"Absolutely," she says. "And SHIT.  We've got a lot more to think about. This whole...  _thing_... has been wild. I mean, District 13? Still around? I can hardly believe it, even now. Of course, it kinda sucks that they just LEFT US ALL to KILL EACH OTHER, YEAR after YEAR..." 

She makes a good point, though, and I tell her so. "I guess I agree. But at least they're doing something now. Even if it took them seventy-five years."

Johanna scoffs, "Sure. Well, I'll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early!" 

And she's gone, running down the hallway back to wherever she sleeps.

 


End file.
